


It's red even if it's never explicitly stated

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Series: Sterek Bingo 2017 [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Elements, Full Shift Werewolves, Human Stiles, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Violence, M/M, Werewolves, orphaned Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 03:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: Once upon a time a boy who was different from his peers was driven into the woods where he befriended a pack of wolves.For the theme: Little Red Riding Hood





	It's red even if it's never explicitly stated

**Author's Note:**

> For [Sterek Bingo](https://sterek-bingo.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> This one's for the theme: Little Red Riding Hood

_There’s a story the old ones tell about a girl leaving the straight and narrow path only to be eaten by the big bad wolf._  
_It’s a cautionary tale with the girl being saved by the huntsman_  
_The tale is a warning…_

* * *

Once upon a time when magic was real and humans had yet to master the art of building large houses of stone, a boy was born. He didn’t look like the other townspeople, his skin was pale and refused to color under sun and snow alike, his limbs were long and body lithe making him agile but weaker than his peers; even his eye s - a warm, golden brown – marked him different in a sea of blue eyed people. But his father was well-respected and his mother well-liked and any mutterings about the boy being a changeling or something worse never reached their ears.

His mother died and the voices grew a little louder, piling onto the mountain of grief already weighing the boy down even if he wasn’t yet old enough to understand the concept of death beyond his father crying and his mother no longer in their home.  
They grew louder as the boy neared manhood and the man became a shadow of his past self, lost in a bottle of amber liquid matching his son’s eyes, until he, too, was gone and the boy was alone in the world.  
They drew him from the village, from his home, into the darkness of the woods; relentless were they as the forced him deeper, where the trees had grown undisturbed for centuries and light rarely reached the forest floor. Their voices echoing between the trees with promises of death either by their hands should he dare return or by the beasts’ teeth should he dare to move forward.

That night when the wolves howl in the woods do the villagers huddler closer together. Safe behind their walls and their fire the send each other relieved smile that they made it home in time, because the wolves aren’t just frightening, they sound _hungry_.

~x~

The woods are empty and dark; scary when you’re used to the presence of other humans, and never silent once you start to listen. For hours all that accompany him are the sound of his own ragged breathing and the voices of the people he used to call friends (for lack of a better word), their hatred driving him further, their taunts fueling his feet as he keeps running, and running, and running until there’s nothing left and he collapses in an exhausted heap on a patch of moss that is cold and moist but almost as soft as his own bed. He doesn’t as much fall asleep as his passes out, not caring if he’ll ever wake up again or not.

\---

It’s been years since the humans have left their village this far behind and curiosity gets the better of him as he follows them, unseen where he’s hiding in the undergrowth, silent on his furry paws where they make more noise than had all the animals in the forest decided to start running in the same direction at once.

He makes his way ahead of them, wanting to see what they’re chasing and when he sees he stops in his tracks, surprised into stillness; because that’s not an animal like he’d assumed, and just to be sure he takes in a deep breath filtering away the smells of the forest and left with nothing but human. A growl rumbles through him - how dare they chase one of their own as prey – before he lets free a howl, calling the pack to him, telling them to be careful not to be seen. 

He follows the one they’re chasing, anger rising as he begins listening to the words the villagers are spewing, but never interfering just making sure nobody’s going to attack.  
It’s a relief when they finally tire and return to their homes, leaving the woods to its quiet sunset routine, the one they were chasing lying in a small clearing, asleep or unconscious and he moves a little closer to stand vigil over the human to make sure nothing further happens.

It’s not a surprise when Erica’s the first. One second there’s empty space the next there’s a sand-colored wolf silently making its way towards the human lying there. She keeps her head down, her snout almost close enough to touch the human as she familiarize herself with the scent; once done she moves to stand at his right side and a little behind him.  
Once Erica’s stopped moving and the human hasn’t moved the rest of the pack materialize just as quietly as she did, all taking a quick sniff to learn the human’s scent and then standing in a half circle behind their alpha. As time passes and the human doesn’t seem to wake they relax, laying or sitting down, until he’s the only one standing and then the change in breath, the tick of the heart beat as the human slowly, ever so slowly claws his way from sleep to awake.

\---

It’s the cold that wakes him and for a minute he wonders why his sheets are wet before he remembers: he’s not _in_ his bed but outside in the forest and who knows how long he’s been lying where he is if dew has already soaked through his cloak. He stands on shaky feet, willing his eyes to see anything past the darkness, spinning where he stands in the hopes of seeing light or anything to help him navigate out of here. The sheen of eyes as he’s made half the turn makes him take a step back, his heart racing in panic, breath more difficult to achieve as he remembers every story he’s ever heard about these woods – of which the less horrible were the ones where the human ended up eaten by monstrous beasts.

The eyes don’t move closer, not even when he hits a tree and can’t stay upright for a few seconds, letting him reign in the panic and gives his mind time to process that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness.  
He can see seven wolves, all at least as tall as his waist when he’s standing, their colors going from bright to almost as dark as the clearing, that one being almost a head taller than the others and there’s no doubt that if it wanted to he wouldn’t have a chance getting away. He stares, wondering why they’re not attacking (why he’s even still alive) when the big, black wolf suddenly _ripples_ ; its fur melting away leaving human skin in its wake and where the animal was there’s now a man, muscles flexing as he slowly goes from four to two legs; his eyes follow the movement as the man straightens, stops at the middle to take in the sight of pale skin nestled in hair the same color of the fur - it’s possible a whimper escapes him, but it’s hopefully low enough nobody can tell – further up past strong abdominal muscles, arms crossed over a sculpted chest emphasizing broad shoulders, corded neck leading to a stubbled jawline, a narrow nose followed by eyes, the color of which he can’t determine due to the lack of light, under a set of heavy brows.

He’s barely done taking in the sight of the man before the other wolves do the same thing, and he’s suddenly standing in front of not one but seven _very_ naked people, heat rising in his cheeks and he’s convinced fires could be started by his face alone.  
The man takes a step forward, nostrils flaring as if he can smell things humans shouldn’t be able to, the boy’s eyes tracking his every move as the distance between them diminishes and they’re suddenly chest to chest, the heat rolling off of the man warming him even in his damp clothes as he bends slightly, nose almost touching the boy’s neck as he takes a deep breath and then takes half a step back, looking slightly dazed.

”Derek,” he says in a voice an octave higher than would’ve been expected looking at him. “My pack,” he continues making a sweeping gesture encompassing the people behind him. “Who are you?”

”St-Stiles,” the boy says; nervousness robbing him of his voice, the cold making him shiver enough that his teeth are clacking against each other. One of the women, a redhead barely taller than the wolves were, steps forward whispering something Stiles can’t quite hear. Derek sighs, nods once again and then he can see the ripple under human skin, arms lengthening into front legs as they drop onto all fours and then they’re gone, melted into the darkness and he and Derek are apparently alone in the clearing.

”You’re freezing,” he says. “You’re welcome in our home.” Stiles simply nods his accept, quietly following the other’s naked backside even deeper in among the trees. They don’t talk and before long Derek leads him into a large clearing with the biggest house he’s ever seen in the center. He’s lead through the door and shown to a room at the back; he’s asleep before Derek’s shut the door behind him.

\---

Stiles stays. It takes a month before Derek stops repeating the offer of leading him out of the forest, two before they tell him about werewolves, five before Stiles asks if he can stay with them even if he’s human. A year after he was driven from his home he slips into Derek’s bed where he’s welcomed with open arms; the only change being that the rest of the pack becomes as affectionate with him as they’ve been with each other. 

They’re heading towards their third year together when Derek bites him under the full moon a cold night in the darkest of winter; sinking fangs into pale skin where neck meets shoulder, hands circled around a slim waist keeping them close.  
In the early morning, right as the sun crawls over the horizon, does Stiles break Derek’s skin with blunt, human teeth before covering the bite in a bad smelling paste the wolf had brought with him. Later that day they enter the house hand in hand with matching bite marks on their necks, the pack cheering for them and presenting the feast they’ve prepared.

~x~

Stiles, Isaac and Erica are out picking mushrooms when the two wolves suddenly throw their baskets away, running on all fours before they’ve stopped bouncing on the ground. Stiles tries to keep up, but he’s still just human and not nearly as fast as his pack mates and as such it’s all over when he reaches the clearing.

There are clear signs of struggle, torn up earth and blood, but no wolves and no whatever they fought. Stiles carefully takes it all in, searches for clues and once he finds a trail he hurries inside, arms himself and then he's off in the direction the attackers went.

The sun’s set when he sees the flicker of fire, and knowing he’s close he slows down takes even bigger precautions not to be seen or heard.  
The sight before him has anger rising in him. His pack’s tied up, their faces trapped in their half shifts and they look as if they’re in pain. The worst though is Derek: He’s tied to a stake, standing on the beginnings of a fire. The wolf’s bleeding from several small cuts that aren’t healing, and like the others his face is stuck in the half shift and he’s clearly in pain, though it seems worse than the others’. Stiles crawls closer, needing to know what he’s up against, his stomach in knots the more he hears and bile rising in his throat.

With a silent apology at his mate, Stiles slowly crawls back and around the camp, cutting the wolves loose as he reaches them, whispering for them to remain where they are until he gives the signal.  
Once they’re all free he looks up, seeing the leader trailing a knife down Derek’s torso before burying it to the hilt in his stomach. He lunges without giving the signal but the wolves are, thankfully, right on his heels. The surprise is all they need and it’s mere minutes before all the humans are lying dead on the ground and Stiles has Derek’s head in his lap while Boyd is burning wolfsbane and coating the wounds with the ashes.

At dawn they make their way towards the village where Stiles came from, as they’ve paid these people to get rid of the monsters in the woods to make it possible to travel them without fearing for their lives. And Stiles wants to make sure they never have to worry about things like that ever again so he leads the way followed by seven huge wolves. They descend on the unsuspecting villagers when the sun is at its zenith, not leaving a single heart beating before going home.

* * *

_There’s a story the old ones tell, about a boy living with a pack of wolves._  
_It’s a cautionary tale where the boy saves the wolf._  
_The tale is a warning... Little Red Riding Hood doesn’t need saving._


End file.
